


The Three Legs of Voltron

by nocturnalspork



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Getting Together, How Do I Tag, Hunk (Voltron) is so Pure, Hurt/Comfort, Japanese Shiro (Voltron), Korean Keith (Voltron), Light Angst, Maori Hunk (Voltron), Multi, Not Beta Read, Panic Attacks, Rating May Change, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Space Uncle Coran (Voltron), Tags May Change, Team Voltron: where everyone is gay and/or neurodivergent, Team as Family, space tattoos!, uhhhh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2019-06-30 21:56:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15760482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocturnalspork/pseuds/nocturnalspork
Summary: Five(ish) times someone on Team Voltron needed support + one time the support system needed it tooAka shameless Lance, Hunk, and Coran appreciation, because two-thirds of that trio don't get enough of itTags and rating subject to change





	1. Chapter 1.1: In which there are offers (and stargazing)

**Author's Note:**

> i've had an idea like this for a while, but never got around to posting it. but here we are! this was born purely out of my love for lance, hunk, and coran, and my need for the latter two to be appreciated more. keep an eye out for chapter 1.2, because chapter 1 got away from me and turned into lance-centric drabbley introspection. oops?
> 
> shoutout to my beta for this chap, chris. if you're reading this dude, thanks for everything. you're the bomb.com
> 
> anyways, please enjoy and don't be afraid to kudos/comment if you like it! its my first (posted) fanfic, so i'm an anxious bean. hope you enjoy!!
> 
> -sporkish

Artificial night had descended upon the castleship, bright hall lights dimmed to near nonexistence, and the usual hum of engines quieted for the next 8 hours. It was a rare moment of peace and clarity as the ship quietly drifted through the ether. Soft snores, muffled by the closed sliding doors of each paladin’s quarters, filled the hallway, broken only by the gentle scraping pad of bare feet upon the chilly floor.

Lance rubbed at his eyes, biting back a yawn. Rubbing at the goosebumps dotting his arms in the coolness, he adjusted the blanket draped around his shoulders and wondered idly if it would be worth the walk back to his room to retrieve his slippers, left behind in the half-asleep daze in which he left. Sleep would not come to him tonight, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why. He’d been sure to have only one cup of Hunk’s space hot chocolate before he went to bed, his mamá’s voice filling his head with admonishments for having sugar so late - _“what do you think you’re drinking_ chiquito _? now you’ll never get to sleep”_. After tossing and turning for at least two vargas, the usual coziness of the paladin dorms had turned confining and he had to get away. 

His thoughts drifted with the faint rhythmic pap pap pap of his feet on the floor. He absentmindedly listened for any unusual sounds coming from his fellow paladins’ rooms. It was a nighttime distraction he was all too familiar with. On the hot, still nights in Cuba when the crickets’ song became a hindrance to sleep instead of a lullaby, when not even the whirring fan could beat back the oppressive muggy heat from the outside, when the distant splash of ocean waves called to Lance like siren song. On these nights he roved the halls of his small home, expertly stepping around creaky floorboards and disregarded toys. He walked and listened and waited. For his father’s loud snores and the quick breathing of his niece and nephew and the gentle whirr of Victoria’s essential oil diffuser and the near inaudible pad of their fat cat’s footsteps. Most nights like this he paused outside of Tìo Javi’s room, listening for the telltale signs of restless sleep. They tended to not talk about it. He needs space Lance. Anyone would after a wreck like that. Would tonight be a bad night, where his family turned into a well-oiled machine of making tea and grabbing warm blankets and flipping on lamps? Would they be up all hours, just sitting with the older man to reassure him that he was safe? Or could he pause for just a minute, maybe two, listening to the peaceful snores before moving on?

If it was a lucky night for Lance, he would be able to return to his own bed after making his rounds. Sleep would claim him and that would be that. If not, his bare feet would take him outside, carefully shutting the screen door behind him - _don’t you dare slam that door,_ mijo! - down the sand-crusted wooden stairs, to the beach. He liked the unlucky nights best. The unlucky nights meant that he sat in the sand, still damp and hot from the relentless sun, leaning back onto his palms and watching the stars for hours on end. The morning after these nights he would be dead tired, but content in his star-gazing.

He paused to adjust his blanket once more. The chilly, artificial night of the castleship felt that much cooler with the memories of muggy, hot Cuban nights playing through his head. Looking around, Lance realized that he had long since moved out of the wing of the castle that held the paladin dorms. Without realizing it, he had reached the control room of the ship. Force of habit, he figured. Not to mention the frankly ridiculously frequent emergency protocol drills Allura and Shiro insisted on running while the paladins slept. The holoscreens that usually flooded the room with bright Altean-blue light were off. The window in the the front of the deck offered no information screens or targeting system at this hour, just a view of the endless space in front of them.

In the dim light of the room, it took Lance a moment to realize he was not alone on the deck. A lumpy figure rested at the base of Allura’s usual platform, huddled in a thick blanket. A white plastic cup from the kitchen lay abandoned on the floor a few feet away. As Lance entered the room, the figure’s head jerked upwards, twisting away from their previous place facing the window.

“Lance?” croaked the figure, clearing their throat.

“K-Keith,” Lance stuttered. “I, uh, didn’t know you were still up. Not that I was keeping tabs on you. Well, I was. On the team that is. I just thought everyone was asleep by now but you’re not and-”

He cut himself off.

“Sorry. Long day.”

“Look,” Keith started, “I’m really not in the mood right now, so if you wouldn’t mind…”

Lance’s brows furrowed. Much to Keith’s chagrin, he took another step into the room.  
“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Keith scoffed. “Nothing’s wrong”

As he spoke, his eyes shot downwards, head swiveling half-heartedly towards the window. He ended up glaring at the floor, head now in perfect profile. Lance couldn’t help but notice that in the darkness, dim stars lighting Keith’s messy hair in a fuzzy halo, the red paladin looked otherworldly. Beautiful, his mind supplied unhelpfully. He shook his head as if to shake away the intrusive thought and blinked.

“Oh, so that’s why you’re sitting in the control room. All alone. In the dark. With no one-”

“ _Lance I said I’m not_ -”

“Woah easy there,” Lance raised his hands in mock surrender. “I was joking, but obviously now’s not the right time.”

Keith, who had whipped around to face Lance again in his sudden anger, calmed. As Lance’s eyes drifted to study the view of space out the front window, Keith studied the blue paladin’s face momentarily. Unbeknownst to the Cuban boy, Keith’s eyes glanced over his thin face, the way he wet his lips before opening his mouth in a half-smile. It was an understanding smile, genuine and a little tired. It was a far cry from the usual smirk Lance plastered over his face whenever he went to flirt with the nearest thing that moved. Even thinking about the blue paladin’s eagerness to cozy up to every alien they met brought a heat to Keith’s cheeks. He was suddenly very grateful it was so dark.

“Can’t sleep too, huh?”

There was a pause, Keith swallowing and turning back to face the window before responding. When he did, his voice was rough.

“Yeah.”

They rested for a moment, which stretched into two. Two stretched into five, and after that there was no point in counting moments as minutes ran together like water and time distorted. They sat, frozen in a tenuous silence, untouched by any movement of time. All they knew was the lazy drift of stars and galaxies they passed in the castleship’s slow flight through space. There was none of their usual banter or argument, this new peaceful companionship feeling far too intimate, too sacred to destroy with short tempers and clipped tones. 

Though the calm insomnia was familiar to both parties, the sound of crickets rang in their minds, memories of hot summer nights spent tossing and turning and staring up into space. Space itself was far too quiet when the team was sleeping.

Lance cleared his throat, breaking the calm with a hesitant voice. 

“If, uh. If you ever need to talk, I’m usually up pretty late.”

“...”

“I also got used to my little siblings waking me up at all hours back home anyways, so I won’t get annoyed. Promise.”

“...”

“My mamá always told me that you should never go to sleep with a running mind. So...just know that I’m here. If you want to talk, that is.”

“Lance.”

“Don’t feel like you have to though. I wouldn’t want to push you or invade your privacy or-”

“ _Lance._ ”

His mouth shut with a clack.

“...”

Then, almost inaudibly.

“Thanks.”

Silence, again. Lance let his mind drift as they sat with the stars. He couldn’t help but wonder if Keith was used to this insomnia too. Did he lay awake in their dorms at the Garrison too? In his lonely shack in the desert? The stars would be beautiful way out there, he thought. No light pollution for miles. He wondered who Keith had on Earth now, if anyone. Keith’s mom definitely wasn’t in the picture. Lance knew that he and Shiro had been close, but had Keith made any connections after he left the Garrison? Judging by his lack of friends even when he was still in school, Lance was doubtful. Keith’s entire family was in space now, thrown into a war that had started when humans were just beginning to establish any kind of known civilization. A pang of sympathy shot through Lance’s heart at the thought. Even though he missed his family on Earth, at least he was reasonably sure they were safe. Out here, anything could happen to the team, at any time.

Keith’s jaw split into a yawn, and Lance had to hold a hand over his mouth to stay silent. He wasn’t sure whether he was holding in a laugh, or a squeak over how cute sleepy Keith was. He hoped it was the former.

In the morning, the bright lights of the castle would return to their usual blinding white state. The team would awaken and begin another day cycle. Lance could already picture their schedule. Breakfast. Training. Lunch. Team-building. More training. In theory, every day was the same. In practice, extenuating circumstances made this level of organization a rarity. Hailing frequencies, distress beacons, surprise attacks, diplomatic talks, treaties, and new information constantly interrupted the established schedule. It was in a constant state of flux and barely-organized disarray, their schedule. The new day could bring anything. Hell, Lance would take it in stride if Zarkon himself showed up tomorrow, knocking on the doors of the castleship. 

A pang of anxiety and fear shot through Lance’s heart. He took a deep breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth. That’s tomorrow, he told himself. Just live for now.

For now, the ship was a safe haven from the ever-changing dangers of the day, from the alien war that had become their own. The dark quiet of space wrapped around the paladins of Voltron, a cocoon of peace and rest. 

“No problem Keith. No problem at all”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: save shippy klance stuff for later, build up to it more
> 
> also me: okay first chapter will be......keith and lance. secretly admiring each other while stargazing. yes.


	2. Chapter 1.2: In which salt is spilled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're back for chapter 2(ish). i called it 1.2 because in this chapter keith and lance actually talk instead of just staring at stars. can you see why the summary says five(ISH) times? i don't know if i'll be able to stop at 5+1, so i kept my options open.
> 
> big shoutout to anyone who read and kudos-ed the last chapter!! and huge thanks to loveliza for bookmarking this fic??? legit made my day. hope you enjoy the next chapter.
> 
> minor warning for swearing. love the hc where lance has a good filter (he's a family guy, gotta keep it clean for the youngins), but it slips when he gets mad
> 
> duces -sporkish

The meal was noticeably tense. Despite Hunk’s best efforts, bless his soul, the only sounds filling the kitchen were the clinking clatter of utensil against bowl. Thanks to Hunk and the not-quite sweet potatoes they found at the swap meet, they were able to have some alien variation of deep red mashed kumara, complete with what looked like neon yellow chives as a garnish. Hunk said they tasted like some kind of garlicky basil. Lance had decided to trust him on that one.

“Coran,” Allura broke the silence with a polite cough, “could you please pass the _ngaan_?”

Coran looked up at Allura, pausing with his spoon halfway to his mouth. His eyes flicked between the salt shaker and Allura. The princess, at one end of the table had asked Coran for the salt, yet the salt shaker sat comfortably in front of Keith, who sat two places further down the table from Coran. 

“I’m sure Keith can grab the salt no problem, if you don’t mind my dear boy…?”

Allura’s jaw tightened, eyes flicking once towards Keith’s down-turned face before locking resolutely onto Coran’s. She hesitating in responding for just a moment, but it was enough. 

Keith stood sharply, grabbing the salt shaker in one smooth motion. His jaw clenched.

“Oh my - it is no trouble at all Keith I can-” the older Altean began.

Keith slammed the small glass container down in front of Coran’s plate, knocking the lid off. Salt spilled onto the table.

“It’s fine,” he muttered.

In the tense silence following, Keith stormed away from the table and out the door, into the depths of the castle. On his way out, Lance could hear him mumbling angrily under his breath.

“...probably wouldn’t have taken it from me anyways.”

The rest of the team, spoons hovering part way between bowls and mouths, looked between Allura, Coran, and the now empty doorway. Coran cleared his throat, tugging gently at his moustache with one hand.

“A fantastic Paladins’ supper, Hunk. You’ve outdone yourself tonight.”

Hunk smiled halfheartedly. 

“Thanks Coran.”

Lance and Pidge exchanged a disbelieving glance. _We’re really pretending that didn’t happen?_ The blue paladin couldn’t say he was surprised. The rest of the team was resolutely ignoring the rising tension between the princess and red paladin. Most were hoping it would resolve itself. Lance knew it wouldn’t.

Coran and Hunk continued their discussion of the meal.

“It’s not quite sweet potatoes,” Hunk was explaining. “On Earth they were orange, to begin with, and they taste...earthier, I guess.”

“You said this was common meal in your home?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. We - we have mashed kumara all the time…”

As the pair compared root vegetables, the rest of the group began eating again. There was no other conversation.

The red dish tasted like sand in Lance’s mouth. He knew Keith probably didn’t want to see anyone right now, much less him. But still…

“That was great Hunk!” Lance stood suddenly, carefully placing his spoon on the table next to his bowl.

The chit chat between Hunk and Coran stopped abruptly with Lance’s interjection.

“Just like how your moms make it. Whew, I’m beat after today, aren’t you guys tired?” He stretched and feigned a yawn. “I’m hitting the hay right now, heading to my room and going straight to bed without any detours. Don’t bother knocking on my door or checking on me, I’ll be sleeping so deeply. Goodnight, love you, see you tomorrow!”

Throwing his napkin down, he tried to keep to an acceptable walking speed until he was sure the quiet paladins in the kitchen wouldn’t hear his rushed footsteps. After turning a corner or two, he broke out into a fast jog. He knew exactly where he’d find Keith after that dinner. 

He traced the familiar path to the training room. One short hallway away and he could already hear the furious clank of metal and shuffling of feet on the training room floor. He turned the corner, the door to the room sliding open at his proximity, and took one step into the room before pausing.

Near the center of the room, Keith and one of the gladiator training bots were locked in a stalemate, blades pressed close. Even from across the room, Lance could see Keith’s arms shaking against the inhuman strength of the robot. His hair was pulled back into a low knot, bangs clipped back off of his face. His signature red jacket had been discarded along the wall, along with the pack usually clipped around the Korean boy’s waist.

_That’s hot,_ Lance thought. What he wouldn’t give to be the one that close to Keith, heaving breaths mingling between their chests, sweat slicked skin brushing together in - _Nope._

Lance stopped that train of thought before it got even more out of control. He could feel heat rising in his cheeks. Not the time, nor the place. He was suddenly very glad Keith was focused solely on his opponent.

Suddenly, as Lance was watching, Keith broke their stalemate, springing away from the gladiator and dodging its wide swing. He paused to take a heaving breath before running closer to the machine. He slashed towards the right of gladiator, but the blow was blocked by the flat of its blade. Returning the attack, the robot swung at Keith’s head. He fell backwards and before the bot could return to a ready position, Keith slashed at its waist. His bayard connected with a loud clang, and the gladiator fell back a step.

There was a moment of rest, then the gladiator rushed forwards, meeting Keith’s blade. The robot swung once, twice three times; left leg, chest, head. Keith parried them all, locking their blades as he blocked his head from being split open by the robot’s weapon. He trembled for a moment under the robot’s strength before flinging his opponent’s longsword upwards and away from him. He quickly dropped to the floor, sliding on his knees between the gladiator’s, twirling to slash at it’s unprotected back. The robot stumbled forward, then whirled around and charged.

They traded blows for a long time, wrapped in an intricate dance of ringing metal and close dodges and the huff of Keith’s labored breathing. His range was noticeably smaller than that of the training bot. The blade of Keith’s bayard was long, but the larger physique of the robot put the paladin at a disadvantage. In order for Keith to have any chance at making contact with the gladiator he had to constantly be in its range of attack. Because of this, he had to dance around the robot, weaving in and out of its blows, twirling around it in at dizzying speeds.

Lance was, in a word, flabbergasted by the show of athleticism. And possibly a little turned on, but he was firmly ignoring that part of his brain because like he had told himself earlier now is _not the time_.

Focusing back on the battle at hand, he studied the movements of the robot. The pattern of the gladiator was something Lance didn’t recognize, not that he had the most experience with melee training sims. But it was striking hard and fast, acting more aggressive than he had ever seen. It really did feel more like a battle than a simple training sequence. How long had Keith been practicing at this level?

Finally, after Lance had stood in the open doorway for long past an acceptable amount of time, the gladiator got a lucky strike. Hitting Keith’s left calf with a solid _thwack_ , Keith collapsed onto one knee. He was barely able to get his bayard up in time to block the robot’s next attack, and he strained under its force, pressed further and further towards the ground. _Enough_ , thought Lance.

“End training sequence!” he called out.

Immediately, the training bot lifted off of Keith, taking a few steps backwards before disappearing into the small hole that had opened in the floor beneath it. Keith huffed for a second, still half-prone. One deep breath later, he struggled to his feet. Wiping both his bangs, which had almost all fallen from their clip at the top of his head, and sweat from his brow, he turned to Lance.

“Why’d you stop it?” He questioned breathlessly.

Lance raised an eyebrow.

“Dude, I know you’re a glutton for self-inflicted punishment or whatever,” he started, ignoring Keith’s offended scoff, “but that thing was gonna kill you. I don’t feel like looking for a new red paladin.”

Keith walked over to where he had deposited his jacket and belt, favoring the calf that the bot had hit.

“Allura would love to.”

“C’mon man, don’t joke about that stuff.” Lance said, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. That hit a little too close to the whole ‘wow, we could really die out here and no one on Earth would know’ train of thought he had been avoiding.

“I’m not,” replied Keith, eyebrows raised earnestly. “Have you seen her lately? She hates me.”

Lance began to refute Keith’s response. “She doesn’t-”

“She’s been ignoring me since we figured out I’m half-Galra, Lance. Don’t pretend you didn’t notice, you’re not that dumb.”

_Click_ went Keith’s belt pack around his waist. Bending over again to grab his jacket, Keith held back a wince. If Lance hadn’t been so taken aback by the backhanded compliment, he would have insisted taking Keith to the med bay for Altean bruise treatment at the least. As it was, however...

“E-excuse me? What’s that supposed to mean?” Lance sputtered.

“Nothing,” Keith said, balling up his jacket. “Just...nevermind. It’s nothing. I’m gonna go shower.”

He brushed past Lance, his shoulder clipping Lance’s on his way out the door.

“Wait, Keith-!”

But he was already gone, speed-walking down the hall towards their rooms. Lance grumbled about grumpy aliens, rolled his eyes, then followed.

 

 

After following Keith at a distance back to the paladin dorms, Lance paced outside of the red paladin’s room for a few minutes before entering his own and sitting on his bed. He flipped through some Altean magazines he had borrowed from Allura before getting bored with them. It had been, like 20 minutes. That’s gotta be long enough for Keith to be done showering, right?

He knocked firmly on Keith’s door.

“Not right now!” came from inside the room, muffled by the metal walls.

“Keith. Something’s up, I can tell. Spill.”

The door slid open, Keith standing with dripping, tousled hair, and brows furrowed. He had changed into lounge clothes, a simple black pair of joggers and a dark grey t-shirt. The top of the collar was damp from his hair.

“What.” He said flatly.

Lance pushed past him into his room, taking in the sparse decorations and collection of rocks on his desk. _Note to self; Keith collects space rocks. Cute._

“I can tell something is wrong, Keith. I don’t want to push you,” he rushed to say, seeing Keith begin to bristle at the invasion, “but I think you should talk about it. You’d be surprised how much it helps.”

The Korean boy hesitated, studying Lance’s face for a moment before taking a deep breath.

“It’s Allura,” he began, moving his gaze to rest neutrally on his desk. “You’ve seen her this past week or two. It’s--it’s like I don’t exist. Worse, even. If she just ignored me that’d be one thing, but she...she suddenly hates me.”

The floodgates had opened. Keith began to get louder and faster, gesturing with his hands as he talked.

“She can’t even look at me to pass her the salt. _The salt, Lance_. How are we supposed to operate as a team when one of our leaders won’t even look at me? She’s just, being ridiculous! The other day I tried to find her so I could ask for different modes in the training room, so I wasn’t running the same stuff all the time. She left the room as soon as I got to her. She was in the middle of talking to Shiro and she just bolted!”

He huffed a breath.

“Well…” Lance stretched the word out.

“What, don’t you agree that it’s ridiculous?” Keith snapped, turning towards Lance.

“I mean, it’s kinda big news, Keith. We just...gotta give her time, you know? To get to know the new you”

“New me…?” Keith scoffed, brows furrowing. “There is no new me. I’m still Keith! She had plenty of time to get to know me months ago when we first got dragged into this mess.”

“I know that,” Lance placated, “but she might not. To her, all the Galra are evil. It makes sense that she’d have some trouble getting used to the fact that you’re half-Galra.”

“Yeah, _half_.” Keith gestured up and down to himself. “I’m still mostly human. I’m not even purple!” He was almost yelling now. “But still, she looks at me and all she can see is Galra. She thinks I’m a monster, that I’m just like those bastards who killed the Balmera and her people.”

“Then _prove her wrong_.” Lance jabbed his index finger into Keith’s chest with the last three words. “I’m not saying Allura is right, Keith. But the destruction of her home was only a couple months ago for her. She just found out you share DNA with the people who took away everything she loved. You can’t blame her for being a little sensitive about it.”

One of Keith’s eyebrows shot up underneath his bangs as he scoffed in disbelief. If Lance wasn’t frustrated with the red paladin, his heart would have skipped a beat because _angry Keith is illegally cute_.

“Sensitive? Is that what we’re calling it now? Cause last time I checked, completely ignoring me and anything I do is a bit more extreme than _sensitive_.”

He scoffed again and threw his hands in the air, turning away from Lance.

“I thought she was a princess or something, she’s supposed to better better than this, not acting racist or speciesist or whatever to her own team”

Lance crossed his arms. “You’re not being the most calm about it either.”

The red paladin’s head whipped back around to glare at Lance. If looks could kill, Lance would be dead. 

“ _Excuse me_?”

“You’re expecting her to get over the deaths of everyone she’s ever known, Keith!” Lance uncrossed his arms, arms half-bent with his palms up. “Putting it like that, you’re overreacting just as much as the princess is.”

Keith jabbed a finger at Lance. “Whose side are you on anyways?”

“No one’s! I’m just saying that both of you are being ridiculous.”

“I’m not being ridiculous!” Keith gestured wildly with his arms.

“I don’t want argue with you on this. In case you didn’t notice, we’re in the middle of a goddamn war. We can’t afford any bad blood in the team!”

Lance’s arms crossed once again. He was a patient kid, really, he was. Growing up a huge family, constantly dealing with needy children and prank-loving older siblings? You needed the patient of a saint to last five minutes in the McClain household. But the infuriatingly attractive Korean boy in front of him had brought Lance to the end of his rope.

“Then you agree with m-” Keith started.

“ _I’m not agreeing with either of you_ ,” interrupted Lance. The snap was coming. 

“Well-”

“ _No_ , Keith.” There it was. “You said your bit. Now shut up and let me talk. Allura shouldn’t be treating you this way. You’re still our Red Paladin, and you’re still Keith. You just happen to be a little more alien than any of us thought.”

“Exactl-”

“I’m not done, _pendejo_. While Allura isn’t in the right, you aren’t either. She’s not just being speciesist, or racist or whatever. You gotta understand that Altea was alive a couple months ago for her. Her parents were alive. All her friends, family. Everyone was alive and well. Now, her home planet is destroyed and the Galra who did it is more powerful than ever. You’re expecting her to be done grieving for an entire fucking planet by now? Not only that, but you want her to be totally okay with an important member of her team being directly related to the species that destroyed everything she knew? That’s just as bullshit as her distrusting you because of your mom!”

He huffed, closed his eyes, and counted to ten before opening them again. He had the patience of a saint, yes. But expend that patience and watch out, hidden behind cocky smirks was a sharp tongue. This his family knew, and knew to stay well away when Lance was getting frustrated. He almost felt bad for blowing up on Keith, but it was obviously something he needed to hear.

“...”

“You get it now?”

Keith puffed air through his nose before crossing his arms and looking away from Lance. It was denial at its finest, a classic ‘you’re right but I don’t want to admit it’ pose. _Bingo_.

“Now here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to get your half-alien ass out there, find Allura, and apologize for being so rude to her.”

“But-”

“If she has any dignity, she’ll stay and apologize too. You’re going to sit down with her - doesn’t have to be right now - but you are going to sit down with her and talk like mature, sentient beings. And then you’re going to hug it out, and there aren’t going to be any more problems about this or _so help me God_. Are we clear Kogane?”

“...crystal.”

Lance studied Keith for a moment, the way his brows furrowed, his long eyelashes, lips pressed together in what he would definitely deny being a pout. _I’m screwed_ , he thought to himself.

“Hey, Keith.”

The red paladin’s head turned towards Lance, and he was suddenly painfully aware of how close they had gotten during their argument. 

“Thanks for talking to me. Sorry I, uh, kinda blew up at you.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “I needed to hear it I guess.”

“Feel any better?”  
“...”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Go away.”

The words may have been sharp, but the tone was fond. It had none of the defensive aggression from before. Instead, it bordered on a laugh.

_Good_ , Lance thought. His mother's voice echoed through his head. _Never go to bed angry,_ mijo. _Either make amends, or stay up to plot your revenge._. He leaned in close, arms crossed against his chest.

“Goodnight Keith, don’t let the space bed bugs bite~”

“Whatever,” Keith laughed, pushing Lance’s face away with the palm of his hand.

For a second, Lance was tempted to lick it, but thought better of it. As close as the red and blue paladins had gotten since their arrival in space, Keith probably wouldn’t appreciate the weird things Lance was used to doing to screw with his siblings. 

Lance walked back to his room, pausing outside the door. He reached up, touching his cheeks. Stretched across his face was a giddy smile. _See you in the morning, Keith. Dulches sueños._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope the fighting was okay/clear to understand. definitely NOT a strong suit of mine, but that just means i need to practice with it! hopefully this fic'll help, writing space battles seems fun.
> 
> in case you couldn't figure it out with context clue, "dulches suenos" means "sweet dreams" in spanish.
> 
> dunno when the next chapter will be up, i'm moving into uni sunday, then there's welcome week stuff going on. it'll be up asap though!


	3. Chapter 2.1: In which Shiro gets distracted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey...it's been a uhhhh hot minute. sorry about the wait, folks. it took a lot longer than expected to get into a solid routine in uni/college. also this chapter just fought with me for a while before going in a completely different direction than how i thought it was gonna go. so be on the lookout for chapter 2.2, which will be out a lot quicker than it took to get this one out! sorry again, i know i'm trash.
> 
> anywho, CW for some swearing, mentions of blood/injury, and panic attacks/dissociation. you know its gonna be a fun one ;)
> 
> catch ya on the flippity-flip,  
> -sporkish

The air in the castleship always felt strange after a particularly tough battle. The team stood just a little bit closer, touched each other just a little bit more, and talked just a little bit less. It was always a reminder that there were no guarantees out in the cold of space, that anything could happen at any time, that their strange impromptu family could be torn apart in the blink of an eye. 

In these long hours, it wasn’t uncommon to see a pile of paladins in the common room, swathed in blankets and sleeping on top of one another, bathing in collective exhaustion and relief. The team enjoyed these long naps. They sat in silent agreement that being able to see the faces of those they had come to love was the best way to chase away night terrors.

But for some, the night terrors still came.

Shiro has mastered the art of feigning sleep. He sat with his teammates until their breathing evened out and they dropped off into sleep before carefully extracting himself from the mass of sleeping bodies. There was little restful sleep for the black paladin, and the little family huddled together in the common room didn’t deserve to be woken up by his restless sleep..

Instead, he roamed the halls, exploring the expansive ship and occasionally speaking with Coran or Allura as they went about their work. Usually, he remained in solitude. The team assumed he woke before them out of habit, or for a cup of space coffee in the kitchen. Shiro didn’t bother to correct their assumptions.

 

It was a pretty peaceful day on the castleship. At least, peaceful until the distress beacon came in.

The hailing frequency, describing a sudden attack of Galra forces on defenseless miners, originated on a small, peaceful planet called Trahir. According to the team’s intel, it had been colonized by the Glara nearly a century before, and the willowy inhabitants offered little resistance. Rich in minerals used to power Galran sentry blasters, the empire had wasted no time in creating extensive mines using the inhabitants as laborers. 

In terms of mining planets, Trahir was relatively well-off. There were little to no slave revolts against Galra leadership, so the workers were treated fairly and were paid a small salary for their work. Only able-bodied adults were made to work in the mines, while those too young, old, or physically incapable performed maid work for the small number of Galran generals that lived on-planet. The system that had been put in place years before had never had any issues. The Paladins were rationally skeptic, but ultimately couldn’t ignore a plea for help.

They flew down in three lions, leaving the blue and black lions behind. From just inside the atmosphere, the mining facility from which the distress beacon was sent looked relatively peaceful, no Galran fighters firing into crowds of workers like what had been described in the distress beacon.

“Guys?” Hunk’s face appeared on the screen in front of Shiro, Lance hovering behind his pilot’s chair. “Anyone else getting a bad feeling about this?”

Shiro’s brow furrowed. He had been thinking the same thing. A distress beacon, but no actual attack? It screamed _trap_.

“Pidge,” he began to order, “do a scan for Galra fighters or warships. If none are here then we’re leaving.”

“But what if they really do need our help?” Lance questioned, eyes scanning the planet below.

“We cannot risk the lions,” Allura said from their com links. “This planet has been peaceful for years, and now their colonizers are launching a sudden attack? It is almost certainly a trap for Voltron.”

Lance sighed in defeat. 

“You’re right princess. It’s probably best if we -”

“My scan is done!” Pidge interrupted with a shout. “Let’s see here…”

There was a moment of silence while Pidge glanced through the results of the scan. Shiro, peering over her shoulder wasn’t able to make sense of the Altean text flying across the screen. He had a sneaking suspicion that even if it were in English, he would have just as hard of a time deciphering the results. Thank god for tiny tech geniuses.

Suddenly, Pidge made a noise of frustration.

“But - that doesn’t make any sense.”

“What’s wrong Pidge?” said Shiro.

“Well, according to my scans, there’s no Galra ships anywhere on the planet. It says they’re all off-world.”

“What do you mean, off-world?” Allura questioned sharply.

“It’s - this can’t be right. I-” Pidge stammered.

“C’mon Pidgeot, spit it out.” Lance said.

“My scan is showing more Galra fighters than I can even count, there’s - it says they’ve surrounded the planet. They’re all around us. It’s - they’re - _god_ they’re everywhere.”

Shiro glanced around the seemingly empty space around them.

“I don’t see an-”

**_Boom._ **

All hell broke loose. The green lion shook with explosions, causing Shiro to stumble to the side. Holding tight to Pidge’s chair, he dragged himself back up and looked through the viewscreen. His eyes widened in shock.

All around them, Glara ships began to materialize, a sea of fighters and battleships surrounding the lions. An alarm blared in the green lion as Pidge’s fingers flew across the screens in front of them, running diagnostics, and Shiro could see out of the corner of his eye deep black scorch marks across yellow’s flank. He could only assume the red lion was in a similar condition, floating somewhere behind and to the other side of green.

“Shit.”

“Language,” Shiro reprimanded absentmindedly, eyes locked onto the ships in front of them.

It was a tense standoff, a waiting game of who would make the first move. One second, two, three, the purple lights of the Galran fleet clashed with the soft neon of green’s interior. Four, five, Shiro heard Pidge gulp and return her hands to green’s joysticks, gripping tight.

Suddenly, an angry yell burst across the com link. The red lion sped past Pidge and Shiro, clipping its paw on green’s shoulder. 

“ _Keith_ \- !” Lance shouted. “Goddammit.”

The trance was broken. Laser fire surrounded the lions, Pidge yanking the green lion away from the fire. She cracked her neck, sparing a second to glance back at Shiro. Despite the odds and the grim nature of the situation, a small grin worked its way across her face.

“Let’s go,” she said, eyebrow quirking. She whipped back around, throwing both joysticks forward to push green into the fray.

 

“ _Fuck._ ” Pidge hissed, limping down the ramp out of Green’s mouth. Shiro didn’t bother correcting her language, his arm wrapped tightly under those of the Green Paladin while her arm draped over his shoulders. She sagged into his support, barely able to keep herself on her feet.

Absentmindedly, he worried whether the blood staining both of their suits would wash off easily.

They had been well and truly trapped in the upper atmosphere of Trahir, surrounded by more fighters than they had ever seen before. The paladins fought well, but without Blue or Black, they were unable to form Voltron to blast through and make a quick escape. After being battered and tossed through space, Coran and Allura were able to cut an escape route for them with the castle defenses and wormhole away. Shiro could only assume the rest of the team was in a similar condition to him and Pidge, having lost sight of the other two lions as soon as the fighting began.

Suddenly, Pidge swayed and Shiro was quite literally dragged back to the present. He stumbled, adjusting his grip on the smallest paladin.

“Pidge?” he asked, gently shaking her. “Pidge, wake up!”

No response.

“ _Pidge!_ ”

He gathered his strength for a moment, dutifully ignoring the burning pain in his thigh from where he had been thrown into the sharp edge of a control panel, before hoisting Pidge up into his arms, cradling her unconscious form. He continued onwards out of the green lion’s hangar, heading straight towards the med bay. Allura and Coran would meet him there to settle Pidge into a healing pod. A quick check showed that she was still breathing - _thank god_ \- and her heart rate seemed fine, if not on the slow side. At least, that’s what Shiro assumed.

In actuality, he didn’t know for sure. She could be dying in his arm and he _wouldn’t know_ because he was never trained to be a medic. He was never trained to pilot a giant sentient lion through space or to help lead a _fucking revolution against an empire spanning the entire known universe and Pidge was so light and small in his arms_ and he _hated_ moments like these, moments where it hit him that they’re all _kids_. They’re kids fighting a war that wasn’t theirs and he was reminded of it every time Lance carried Pidge to bed when she passed out at her computer, when Allura spoke at length with the mice, when Hunk set plates of food outside the training room for Keith to stumble upon when he stayed up all night completing simulation after simulation.

They’re all kids, but they’re the face of hope for an entire universe.

Hurried footsteps brought his focus back to the present and he looked up to see Coran and Allura rushing towards him. Their faces paled at the sight of Pidge, limp in his arms - _Galran arm, weaponized arm, arm that had hurt innocents, had hurt friends, that blended in far too well with the dark purple and gray of the empire_ -, glasses broken and laying somewhere in the green lion, blood coating the side of her head, arm twisted at an unnatural angle, breathing shallowly, and suddenly it wasn’t Pidge in his arms but _Matt, Matt who had trusted him to keep them safe, who he had hurt, who he had abandoned who was still lost somewhere in space who was his best friend who--_

Shiro shook his head as arms invaded his field of vision. He tensed, almost taking a step back, but it was just Coran reaching for the Holt sibling in his arms who was Pidge again. In his mental spiral the Alteans had guided him into the med bay and had already prepared a pod for Pidge. In fact, five pods had been prepared and sat open but empty, waiting for the rest of the paladins to come be healed. Coran gently placed Pidge into the first pod while Allura typed commands into its holoscreen. With a quiet hiss, the door shut.

Coran was saying something about Shiro needing a pod as well, but he shook his head mutely.

“Not until the rest of the team get here,” he rasped.

The Alteans shared a glance, but didn’t argue.

It only took a few more minutes for the remaining paladins to reach the med bay. Keith was leaning heavily on Hunk, right foot hovering above the ground with every step. Lance was clutching his side, but still managed to shoot a quick grin and thumbs up at Shiro before the three of them were swarmed by two worried Alteans. 

 

Overall, the team was decently battered, but they had, surprisingly enough, sustained only a few major injuries. All but Pidge was out of the healing pods in a matter of hours, and even then they were all able to gather around her pod a few hours later to catch her as her healing cycle was finished. Hunk scampered off soon after to begin making hot chocolate, and Lance and Pidge started to collect blankets and pillows for the common area. It was shaping up to be one of _those_ nights.

Shiro sighed, turning away from the disbanding group to head towards the kitchen. Despite having eaten after he left the pod, he was still hungry. One of the unfortunate side effects of the healing pods; they could only use so much energy, or quintessence as Allura called it, from the castleship before it had to use that body’s own supply. Too much foreign quintessence could cause the body to reject the healing process, meaning the healing pods, while convenient, were draining. Just thinking of food or a warm hot chocolate had Shiro’s mouth watering, and he shrugged off phantom pain burning in his leg to walk a little faster.

He could smell the kitchen before he arrived, the scent of chocolate drifting through the air. Sitting down with a bowl of food good in hand, Shiro began to eat, the sounds of Hunk rummaging through the kitchen providing a nice distraction from his own thoughts. 

The only thing permeating the white noise was the scrape of his metal arm - _Galran arm_ \- against the metal of the spoon. His fists clenched, but that just made the sound worse. If only he was ambidextrous. He didn’t want to give the Galra - _the druids, Haggar, crackling purple energy, echoing screams_ the satisfaction of using the arm - _weapon_ \- they had given him - _cursed him with._

Shiro threw down his spoon, the utensil clattering loudly against the bowl. He could hear Hunk pause, but refused to meet the gaze of the yellow paladin.

 _Weak_ , a scratchy hag whispered in his mind.

He didn’t dignify that with a response.

He got up, placing his dirty utensils next to the dishwasher before turning to leave the kitchen. Just as he had reached the doorway, Hunk piped up from his work station.

“...Shiro?” 

The black paladin paused, turning on his heel to face Hunk.

“Yes?” He tried to make his voice light, so much lighter than he felt. He didn’t think he was very successful.

“When my little sister broke her wrist in gymnastics, she was devastated.”

Shiro opened his mouth to ask for clarification - _what did this have to with anything?_ \- but Hunk pressed on.

“She was so broken up about it, no pun intended. She wasn’t allowed to compete that year for her team, and it was right after she had gotten promoted to Level 9. At her gym they did these levels, right, where you started at Level 1, and every month you could try and move up a level, and at each level you learn more difficult stuff and get to compete more, and get to come up with your own routines and stuff.”

Hunk paused to take a breath, but Shiro didn’t cut in. Instead, he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. He tried to ignore the way his Galran arm pressed uncomfortably against his human wrist.

“So she wasn’t allowed to compete at her new level. And she hated it. Gymnastics was her life, and suddenly she had a huge blue cast on her wrist and doctors order not to do what she loved for the next 6 months. Man, she _despised_ that cast. She hated how bright it was, how she had to put a bag over it to shower, how her arm itched. And she didn’t want anyone to sign it because she was embarrassed that she was the on who broke it, that it wasn’t some accdient out of her control.

“So, one day I asked her if I could paint on it. And Maia, her eyes just light up. Because she always was trying to get me to paint her something but I never had the time, I was always studying to get into the Garrison, so she of course says yes. And the next day, I painted flowers on it. Really simple, nothing fancy. Took me like 5 minutes. And suddenly, her cast was all she could talk about. She showed it off to everyone at her school and explained that they couldn’t sign it because her older brother was making it pretty. And a few days later, after the paint had worn off a bit, she asks if I can paint it again. So I do.”

At this, Hunk’s lips curved up into a sad smile.

“And then it became a weekly thing, I painted Maia's cast every Sunday night so she wasn’t embarrassed about it.”

He turned to face Shiro fully, hand coming up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that uh, I’m open? I mean, to painting your arm if you want me to.”

Shiro just stood there, had no words to respond to Hunk's offer. The idea of seeing art, not just the cold gray metal of his arm, blood of innocents staining its surface still, when he looked at it. To find beauty in the thing that reminded him of his time in the captivity of the Druids. To make the sweeping metal plates of that machine _his_...

“I’m - I’m really sorry if I overstepped my bounds or anything, Shiro. You don’t have to let me, or even talk about it if you don’t want to but… It’s always good to have someone to talk to.”

“...”

“A-and I know I can’t even begin to understand how you feel and what that year was like but just know that I’m here for you. We all are. You don’t have to be the big strong leader all the time. You were dragged into this just like the rest of us and it’s okay to have bad days, or bad weeks, or, hell, even bad months! Just…” he paused, bashful. “Don’t try and do it alone.”

Shiro straightened up, walking over to Hunk. His throat burned with emotion - _with unshed tears_ , his brain provided. Placing a gentle hand on Hunk’s shoulder, he smiled thinly.

“Thank you, Hunk. I'd like that a lot."

Hunk smiled back, before turning around and continuing with his hot chocolate.

“Go change, oh fearless leader. We’ll let you know when the nest is set up in the common room.”

Shiro smiled again, more genuine this time, and headed to his room. No one was around to see him wipe a stray tear from off his cheek, and if they were? Well, there was no need to mention it.

Maybe, just maybe, he’d stay the night for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry again for the long wait. i'll try harder this time. i hate to be THAT author but your comments and kudos fuel me so if you enjoyed plz take the time to let me know. even if you keysmash i will probably frame it in my dorm and stare at it every day. catch you all next time for some Hunk & Shiro bonding and possibly some impulse decisions (from the characters, not me) ((okay maybe from me but mostly from the characters))


	4. Chapter 2.2: In which there are impulse decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes remember when i said i would get this one out faster? sorry folks. this chapter fought me. 
> 
> speaking of which!! this is a chapter in which some of my personal headcanons come into play. ones in regards to shiro and hunk's ethnicities, and the ages of our fav alteans. please don't get butthurt if you don't necessarily agree with them. they're mostly just ideas i wanted to explore, and i'm not too invested in them. okay? okay. cool.
> 
> ALSO let me know if this reads as shippy with shiro/hunk. that wasn't my intention, but when i was talking about this with a friend they pointed that it seems kinda shippy. i'm not opposed to it, but i more thatn likely won't be making the pairing canon to the fic. sorry all you rare pair shippers, you'll have to find your shunk (hiro?? idk) elsewhere.
> 
> i don't think there's any relevant content warnings for this chap, but let me know if you want me to tag anything! (that goes for any past and future chapters too)
> 
> see ya soon -sporkish

Shiro had heard that some people found the sensation of others painting on their skin to be pleasant and calming. He could only imagine.

His prosthetic arm, while a technological wonder, couldn’t replicate the cool, swirling feeling of a paintbrush over skin. Every time Hunk strayed up toward his shoulder, where Galran metal met scarred human skin, a pleasant shiver ran down Shiro’s spine. He was almost tempted to ask Hunk to paint his shoulder, and maybe even his other arm as well. Anything to make those fleeting brushstrokes last longer. 

Shiro dutifully looked away from the piece of art taking form on his prosthetic. Although he wasn’t much for surprises, he was content sitting with Hunk in serene silence within the yellow lion’s hangar, occasionally broken by the gentle breathing of the two paladins, and the rustle of clothing as Hunk reached around to his palette to pick up more paint on his brush. 

He absentmindedly wondered what design would take form on his arm this time. After Hunk’s offer in the kitchen, it had taken Shiro a couple days to actually approach the yellow paladin and ask for his arm to be painted. The first time, it had been a simple swirling pattern of light blue and white, accentuating the craftsmanship of the prosthetic. For the first time, he had looked at his arm in the mirror and felt appreciative of its design. 

It didn’t take long for the rest of the team to notice, and Hunk bashfully explained that yes, he did paint that. Lance had looked on with an expression not dissimilar to that of a proud mother hen.

Soon, the paint flaked away, and after a few days of internal debate and hesitating outside the yellow paladin’s door, Shiro had returned to Hunk. Eventually, it became habit. Every few days, Hunk and Shiro would disappear for a few hours. When they returned, Shiro’s arm would be done up with a new graphic design, or landscape, or whatever Hunk had wanted to paint that day. One time, Shiro needed to scrub away the art in order to perform diplomatic duties with an allied as one of the leaders of Voltron. Immediately upon returning to castle, he went to Hunk’s room to replace the paint that was lost.

The array of paints on the small glass palette and the expertise with which Hunk handled his brushed spoke of hours of practise. Shiro hadn’t known that Hunk was into art. It made him wonder what else he didn’t know about his paladins, about his friends. It had occurred to him before, many times before in fact, but small moments like this reminded him that of all the team, he really only knew Keith and Pidge. Even then, Pidge had been a passing acquaintance, a little sibling figure that he talked to only occasionally when he visited the Holt’s household.

He couldn’t help but sigh under his breath.

“What’s up?” Hunk asked, head raising from where he had been hunched over in concentration. He had a smudge of orange paint on his cheek.

“Nothing,” Shiro replied, “just...thinking.”

Hunk hummed in understanding, returning to his work near Shiro’s elbow.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he offered quietly.

Shiro hesitated, glancing down at Hunk. He shifted his weight, getting more comfortable before letting his head fall back against Yellow’s paw with a gentle thunk.

“Just wondering if this is really what we’re meant to be doing.”

Hunk didn’t respond, but Shiro could feel his confusion.

“If this our destiny, you know? Or if it’s all just some big… coincidence. It’s crazy that all the current Voltron paladins are from Earth, even less likely that we would all be drawn to the Blue Lion and taken here simultaneously. It just makes me wonder. Was it fate, or just an insane amount of luck that brought us to this war? Are we even meant to be the Paladins of Voltron? Or did the lions just settle for what was on hand at the time?”

Even as he said it, he could feel a dissatisfied rumble in the back of his head. _Sorry Black_ , he directed towards his lion. _But I can’t help but wonder._ Another rumble, not quite a growl, echoed through his mind, along with a wave of _love-protect-belonging-pride-mine-love_. He winced at the sudden rush of emotions. Okay, maybe not the best topic of discussion when his fiercely proud lion was just a few hangars over.

Hunk paused in his painting, taking the moment to lean back and regard his work with a critical eye.

“I’d like to think that we were chosen for this,” he said, “that it’s some grand fate, or destiny, or whatever.”

“Me too, buddy.”

Hunk didn’t respond, darting back in to fix some imperfection in the paint.

“Even if it’s not...even if we’re supposed to end up out here, I’d like to think we did a pretty good job.”

“What do you mean ‘did’?”

“When it’s all over. After we win, when we’re all old and grey. I’d like to think that we did pretty damn good job of saving the universe, even if we were...understudies for the right paladins.” Another growl, _mine-protect-mine_. “Even though we got thrown into this war without a choice, even though you’re all _kids_ \--” to his embarrassment, Shiro’s voice went hoarse with emotion on the last word.

Hunk leaned back again, slowly setting his paintbrush down to look Shiro in the face. Shiro kept his eyes locked resolutely on Yellow’s other leg, straight ahead of him. 

“Shiro,” Hunk began, “you don’t have to always be the adult.”

Shiro opened his mouth to respond _yes, of course he does_. If he doesn’t take care of the team, then who will? He’s not so cruel as to expect one of the younger paladins, barely legal adults to lead this war. Hunk cuts him off with a look.

“Shiro, you are, admittedly, the most experience and oldest of the paladins. But you’re what, 25? 26? You’re a young adult too. You don’t have to take care of the rest of us.”

“But then who--”

“I will. Lance will. Coran and Allura will. Lance and I, it’s in our nature to take care of people. Big families, lots of kids and cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents. We all take care of each other. And Coran and Allura? They’re real adults, and that’s not just cause they’re technically 10,000 years old.

“Did you know that Allura was close to being considered too old to marry on Altea? After she mentioned that, Pidge and I crunched some approximates, and she’s gotta be, like early 30’s in Earth years. We don’t know for sure. And Coran is, like, 45. Let _them_ be the adults for a little while. Just...just give yourself a break.”

Hunk went quiet, picking his brushed back up to add some finishing touches to Shiro’s arm. The black paladin, meanwhile, sat in contemplative silence.

He couldn’t help the fact the he tended to overwork himself. These days, the more exhausted he was when his head hit the pillow, the more likely he’ll go the night without dreams. It was a tradeoff he was willing to make, being exhausted during the day but not having to deal with the flashbacks and night terrors. He had yet to find a way to get more restful sleep without risking nightmare after nightmare.

He was also well-accustomed to having to a leader and role-model for those around him. For years, he was Takashi Shirogane, top of the class at the world-renown Galaxy Garrison. After that, he was the youngest lead pilot to ever fly to the edges of the solar system. Looking out for his team came naturally, and even before his time with the Galra he was used to sacrificing sleep in order to get the job done, whether it be to finish homework or maintenance on his ship. In recent memory, he didn’t know a life that was without heavy responsibility and the pressure to lead well.

“Okay.”

“Hm?”

“I said okay.” Shiro looked down as Hunk straightened up, eye flicking between Shiro’s own.

“To what?”

“To a break. I’ll take a break.”

Hunk’s eyebrows rose, obviously expecting more of a fight on the topic.

“Okay.”

“What?” Shiro questioned. “I’m not Keith, I can be reasonable about this stuff.”

Hunk couldn’t help but snort. “I’ll be sure to tell Keith you said that.”

Shiro laughed at that.

“Your arm is done by the way.”

Shiro got up, stretching for a moment before heading towards the small mirror they had set up in the hangar. Stepping in front of it, his breath was taken away at the design on his arm. 

A komainu lion-dog stretched languidly down his upper arm, stepping down so that its right paw rested halfway between his mechanical wrist and elbow, left hovering mid-step. It’s intense face was pointed outwards, snarling with a mouthful of sharp-looking teeth and tusks. It was a deep green, it’s long mane, beard, and tail painted a bright gold. Surrounding the animal were swirling wave-like blue designs, interspersed with smaller orange koi fish swimming upwards. Purple chrysanthemum flowers clustered around the edges of the design, and were littered sparsely around the whole of his arm.

His mind was filled with images of his mother ushering him into crowded, loud shops, two snarling statues guarding entrances with wide mouths full of teeth. _They’re called_ komainu, _Takashi_. Koi fish in a rocky pool, mesmerizing him for hours until he had to be dragged away from the park to do his homework. His mother, pouring cup after cup of hot tea, elegant but lined face pressed tight with worry as she offered Shiro a gentle smile over a scrappy dinner. A tiny bonsai tree and a paper-wrapped bouquet of chrysanthemums, a crumpled note from a man he never got to know sitting on the bedside table, the plants a beacon of color and life in the otherwise sterile and white hospital room. The spread of grey ash, swirling with the current of a rushing river, far, far, away, towards some distance waterfall.

_Did you know, Takashi, that dragons were originally koi fish? There’s a waterfall, deep in the woods near where I grew up, and if a koi fish, in his bravery to go against the current, is able to swim up the waterfall, he is rewarded by becoming a great dragon. No, really Takashi! Haven’t you ever wondered where dragons come from?_

It was…

“...perfect.” Shiro whispered under his breath. “It’s perfect.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

 

Two days of training simulations and mandatory ‘team-building’ time, which had in all honesty at this point had become less of a required training and more of a time to just relax with the team, and the paint on Shiro’s arm had begun to flake away.

He had thought he was used to the sight of Hunk’s art succumbing to the elements, but the first bare patch of arm he saw, nestled near the crook of his elbow, sent a pang of regret straight to his heart. He had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that this one would last a bit longer than usual.

Shiro was going over new intel in the common room, acquired in a minor raid of a Galra warship. It had been an easy in-and-out mission, something the team desperately needed after the disaster that had been the mission to Trahir. He was skimming statistics of slave revolts and rebel groups when he heard someone clear their throat from behind him. Shiro turned to face the newcomer, twisting in his seat to see Hunk, shifting his weight uncomfortably in the doorway.

“Hey, Hunk.”

“Hi, Shiro.” Hunk’s eyes drifted downwards to rest on Shiro’s prosthetic arm. 

By now, his art was almost completely gone. Flecks of colorful paint clung to the metal in some places, but only the outlines of the shapes remained whole, drawn in some kind of long-lasting Altean marker underneath the paint.

“I noticed you really liked that one.”

Shiro looked down at the ruined art.

“Yeah...I did.”

Hunk hesitated, obviously gathering his courage to say something. Shiro waited patiently. This happened a lot, he had come to realize. Hunk would need a minute, sometimes many, to gather his thoughts enough to speak. 

“I was thinking,” Hunk began, quickly picking up speed, “and I looked into it too just to make sure I have all the right info because it’s still a big decision even if it won’t matter most of the time, and I found a place in the swap moon we’ll be visiting in a few quintaints and they seem to be pretty good at this kind of stuff - not that there’s really any kind of space Yelp but--”

“Hunk,” Shiro interrupted, not unkindly. “What are you talking about?”

The polynesian man paused, blinking for a second at Shiro.

“ _Tattoos_ , Shiro. Tattoos.”

 

A very brief description of the process of alien tattoos - _tattoos_ in space, who would have thought? - and Shiro was sold. A special ink was painted onto the skin, where it dried up and stained the area underneath. After removing the dried ink, it left the skin stained for an hour or so before fading away. A special lotion, purchased at the tattoo parlor, could be applied to the skin after the ink had faded. The concoction revitalized the color in the ink, making the tattoo reappear on the skin. It was marketed mainly for inhabitants of planets where the inking of the skin was taboo, or even forbidden, but it would work for an important political figure such as the Black Paladin too. A perfect way to have a ‘part-time tattoo’, as Hunk called it.

Before the Garrison, and even for a time while he was enrolled there, Shiro had loved tattoos. He had had plans to get one in honor of his mother for months, but that plan had to be nixed as soon as Shiro was taken in as the newest prodigy in the Garrison. No tattoos or piercings for public figures. And after he joined Voltron? Well, it wouldn’t do to show up inked to a planet where it was considered the highest disgrace.

Shiro’s heart was in his stomach as they walked through the crowded halls of the swap moon. It looked surprisingly similar to those they had visited before, but maybe they were all practically the same. He and Hunk had peeled off from the group easily. Everyone had agreed on a meeting place and went their own directions in the mall soon after arriving, pockets jingling with GAC.

The shopfront for the tattoo parlor looked the same as the majority of the other shopfronts in the mall. Large, blocky type spelled out what Shiro assumed was the name of the parlor. As it was, he couldn’t make sense of the characters.

A soft alarm chimed from the front desk when they entered the parlor. There was one customer in the shop, an older humanoid alien sitting in one of the chairs resting against the walls of the waiting room, bright blue skin a sharp contrast from their deep red hair. A kind-looking alien stood behind the desk, looking up as the paladins approached them. No recognition flashed in their three eyes, but a wide grin stretched across their round face. From what the paladins could see of the alien, they were tall and thickly build, with no hair to speak of but a mane of spines, not unlike the quills of a porcupine, beginning at their forehead and continuing down their back. A black vest was their only visible clothing, to which a small name tag was attached, printed with the same kind of characters as were on the shopfront. Beneath it was what Shiro assumed to be the same name, but written in common.

“Hi, uh...Bluth?” Hunk greeted, reading the nametag carefully. “We’re here for a double 3 o’clock? Should be under Nor-Tlov.”

They lifted a holopad, flicking through appointments before stopping and tapping twice. 

“Here you both are,” they said with a raspy voice. “It looks like your paperwork was finished up and sent to us earlier today. Your artists will see you both now.”

They gestured to the left of the desk, down a short and narrow hallway leading to the main area of the shop. The place was surprisingly clean and well-lit, with a sparse amount of art decorating the walls.

Entering the main room, Shiro and Hunk were greeted by two more aliens. One, a tall, thin Unilu with a long cloak and boots, raised a spindly hand in greeting. The other smiled warmly, looking mostly human aside from a sunset orange coloring and wide set of frills undulating around their neck. The latter of the two introduced himself with a high, clear voice as Ylaytt, and gestured for Shiro to approach.

Shooting the yellow paladin a smile, Shiro walked with Ylaytt over to a wide, low, padded table, accompanied by a backless hovering stool. A small table was next to the stool, with a spread of papers and holoscreens littering its surface. On the topmost one was a familiar design; Hunk’s painting of the komainu and koi, rendered beautifully into a sketch with clean, sharp lines and simple colors. A pang of anxiety shot down Shiro’s spine. _He was seriously doing this_.

Ylaytt began explaining the inking procedure, prepping his brushes and stencils as he talked. Shiro found himself mesmerized by the movements of his frills, watching their gentle sway as he listened to the alien elaborate on how long the staining would be visible, how often to apply the lotion, and so on. Suddenly, he was looking expectantly at Shiro.

“Pardon?” Shiro asked, embarrassed that he had been caught so off guard.

Ylaytt only chuckled, head dipping down with quiet laughter.

“I asked, Mx. Tlov, if you’re _ready_.”

Shiro gulped. No time like the present, he figured.

“I’m ready.”

 

The entire process was over surprisingly quick. That being said, the paladins still had to hurry to apply the damp wrappings over their dry ink before rushing through the halls of the swap moon to meet the rest of the team. Gathering by a small fountain in the front of the mall, they performed a quick headcount - and made sure they weren’t adopting any more Kalteneckers - before returning to the castleship.

The entire way back, one question burned in Shiro’s mind; what did Hunk get a tattoo of? He hadn’t known that the yellow paladin was also planning on getting one while they were out. He hummed in agreement at what he figured to be appropriate moments in the conversation, but it didn’t take a genius to realize that he wasn’t truly present. He just couldn’t wait to return to his room, to carefully unwrap the binding currently hidden by his long sleeve shirt, and to just...look at his arm.

As soon as they entered the castle, the team split off once again to attend to their purchases. Shiro and Hunk shared a glance, Shiro nodding in the direction of his room.

They walked quickly there, eager to see the final result of their trip. Shiro was suddenly very glad that he had tidied up today, and had disposed of the torn pillow that had found a home in the corner by his desk. Another reason he didn’t tend to join in when the team spend the night together; he tended to exit his nightmares rather, well, _violently_ , to put it in a word.

Setting their packs down against his desk, Shiro began to shed his long-sleeved zip up to reveal the sleeveless shirt he had worn for the sake of easy access. Draping his jacket neatly over the back of his chair, he turned to see Hunk pulling his shirt over his head, revealing his bare chest.

“ _Woah_ \--” he began, before cutting himself off.

Wrappings, starting at Hunk’s left elbow, spiraled up until they wrapped neatly around his upper chest, covering his shoulder and left pectoral.

“Sorry, man, I shoulda warned you or something.”

Shiro shook his head.

“No, it’s fine. Just wasn’t expecting it.”

Hunk’s eye lit up from where he stood, catching sight of the bindings on Shiro’s upper arm.

“Well? Let’s see how it turned out.”

“It still has a couple minutes until the wrappings are supposed to come off.”

Hunk sighed dramatically.

“C’mon man, just let me see!”

Slowly, Shiro began to unwrap the bindings from around his arm. His metal hand gripped the bandages, rolling them up neatly as they peeled of his skin. His heart began to race, anxiety eating away at his stomach. What if he didn’t like it? What if he regretted it? What if the ink was permanent? As much as he loved the design Hunk had created for him, he wasn’t sure of whether he would want it displayed at all times. Without realizing it, his movements had slowed to almost a complete stop. His head jerked upwards when he felt Hunk’s large hand cover his.

“It looks amazing.”

There was no faking the genuine gleam in Hunk’s eyes, no amount of acting skill that could pull off that much sincere happiness with just a hint of pride. Shiro unwrapped the rest of his arm, taking a deep breath before turning to face his mirror.

Hunk was right. The tattoo was breathtaking. 

Shiro had thought he loved it painted across his Galra arm, but that feeling didn’t hold a candle to seeing it now in its full glory. The linework was crisp and black as the outer reaches of space, with smooth gradients of shading. The colors were rich and vibrant against the dark linework, yellow, green, orange, blue, and lavender complimenting each other perfectly in the piece. It was everything Shiro had hoped it would be.

Shiro knew that Hunk had at least some knowledge on the significance of the design for the Japanese paladin. Still, Shiro doubted that the younger paladin knew just how much this tattoo meant for him. As his thoughts strayed to the woman behind the tattoo, his eyes began to water, and his throat burned with emotion.

As they stood, staring at the art on his skin, the rich values began to fade. Even though Ylaytt had explained that the ink was designed to fade after the bindings were removed, Shiro couldn’t help feel a pang of disappointment. Until Hunk was able to recreate the formula used in the lotion they were given to make the ink reappear, the paladins had agreed that they shouldn’t waste it. They watched silently as the bold designs grew softer, until they were gone.

Hunk cleared his throat. “I’ll get right to work on that lotion,” he said, wringing his shirt in his hands before pointing towards the door.

“Hold on, what about yours?”

Hunk shifted anxiously, reaching up towards his shoulder.

“Right. Sorry I didn’t tell you I was getting one too, it was a, uh, impulsive decision.”

“Hunk,” Shiro said, soft but firm. “You don’t have to show me if it’s personal.”

Hunk shook his head.

“It’s not that, it’s just...I don’t know.” He sighed and hung his head. “I always wanted to do this with my family back home. It’s a tradition and…” he trailed off.

“Hey,” Shiro’s hand rested on Hunk’s bare shoulder. “This team, we can be your family too. We might not be the same as your family back on Earth, and we’d never hope to replace them, but I think that we’d make a pretty good space family.”

Hunk huffed out a chuckle.

“Yeah, okay, Space Dad.”

In spite of the nickname, Shiro smiled back.

“So, uh, my tattoo.” Hunk clapped his hands, rubbing them together. “I don’t know how much you know about this kinda stuff so just stop me if you’ve heard it all before, okay? Okay.”

He took a deep breath.

“I’m sure you’ve seen those ‘tribal’ tattoos that were popular way back in, like, the 90’s, right? Well they’re usually inspired by Maori designs called ta moko. They’re these really important tattoos Maori people can get, and the designs carry, like, our entire culture and history and the history of your family and...yeah, they’re pretty important. My nana always used to say that moko is 99% culture, 1% tattoo. You get the idea.”

Hunk rubbed gently at his bandaged shoulder as he spoke.

“I was actually just a few weeks out from taking a trip back home and getting my ta moko when we came to space. The design and everything had been planned out already, and my family had planned a party and everything for afterwards. It’s a big deal for my family when you’re old enough and decide to get tattooed. Well, everything with the Blue Lion happened and I hadn’t even thought about the fact that I never got my tattoo until recently, and it’s not _that_ big a deal but my culture means a lot to me, you know?”

He began to unwrap his arm, starting at the crook of his elbow, carefully folding the long strip of fabric as he worked closer and closer to his chest.

“And even though it’s not technically ta moko out here, it’s still a reminder of where I’m from, and the people who’re still there.”

Finally, the end of the wrapping came undone and Hunk tucked the folded square of cloth into his pocket.

“Ta da,” he said hesitantly.

Shiro stared at the designs wrapping around Hunk’s arm. Starting in a thick line of black at his elbow, bold empty swirls and straight lines danced up Hunk’s arm to end in a blocky wedge covering his left pectoral. In between these stark flashes of bare skin, intricate black lines filled his arms with patterns Shiro couldn’t quite make out. The large curves of the tattoo complimented his bulging muscles, and the picture Hunk painted in the low light of Shiro’s room seemed strangely...right.

If Shiro had to pick a member of the team to get a large half-sleeve tattoo, Hunk wouldn’t have been anywhere near the top of the list, but the bold design suited the large boy.

Shiro smiled.

“That looks amazing, Hunk. I can see how much it means to you.”

Glancing down at the now fading design, Hunk grinned widely.

Suddenly, his head shot up to lock eyes with Shiro.

“Do you wanna go show the others? I’m sure we can afford to waste a little bit of the lotion they gave us.”

Shiro paused, metal hand coming up to grip lightly at his now blank-looking arm. Did he want to show the others? He couldn’t think of any solid reason not to, but the thought of walking out of the room and parading his new tattoo around made him strangely upset. It was unbecoming of the leader of the team to keep secrets when they had promised each other to be open and honest with the rest of the group, but still. Could he not have this one thing to himself?

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Shiro. I can tell yours means a lot to you too.”

Shiro smiled at the yellow paladin.

“Go ahead, Hunk. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Taking that as a polite dismissal, Hunk pulled his shirt back over his head and left the room. In the quiet, dim light, Shiro looked at his arm again. He knew it was just a ghost of sensation, but he could almost feel a warmth spanning where he knew his ink to be. His eyes skated over to his right arm. The cold, dark, Galran metal stared back at him. Unbidden, a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. His hands tightened into fists.

For the first time in a long while, the sound of his metal joints clinking and rubbing against one another didn’t bring a grimace to Shiro’s face.

He had had his time to mourn for the loss of his human arm. He had spent too long avoiding his own scarred visage in the mirror, pushing stark white hair out of his eyes.

His eyes skated across his own face in the mirror.

Yes, it was about damn time to reclaim what was his.


	5. Chapter 3: In which the team, unfortunately, learns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ..hi there. It's been...uh 3 months? since that author's note? Real life happened again. Funny how that tends to sneak up on you. But I'm back! with an admittedly short chapter, but it's a start. I'm still getting back into the swing of writing consistently (for fun, that is. I write way too much for classwork already), but I was decently proud of this lil chapter. Here's to me starting to get my shit together!
> 
> content warning for brief depictions of injury, violence, and death. nothing too bad!
> 
> cheers,  
> sprksh
> 
> PS the comments on my author's note made my day/week/month. y'all are lovely and so understanding :)  
> PPS the aforementioned author's note is in the end notes of this chapter. in case you care.  
> PPPS please let me know if there are any stupid grammar/spelling mistakes in this one. no beta + no meds = dumb mistakes I probably missed

As a scientist, Pidge was loathe to ever conform to the belief that ignorance is bliss. Her natural curiosity defied the idea that not knowing something would ever be more enjoyable than sitting down with her tablet, or a pad of paper, or even a stack of extra napkins from some random stash and figuring how and why something worked. Always thinking, always learning, always striving to know more. Always searching, even if now her search was for something far more valuable to her than just knowledge.

If she closed her eyes she could see him, smudged glasses and messy hair and smirking half-smile burned into her retinas, Matt showing off his projects, helping her troubleshoot difficult lines of code and ruffling her hair and being a general nuisance and _god_ she missed him. She could hear his voice, holding back laughter with an awful posh British accent as he slid his glasses to the edge of his nose and lifted one pretentious finger in the air, _contrary to popular belief, my dear Katie, ignorance is not bliss. ignorance is bullshit._

Although they were said in jest, she turned those words over in her head until they filled her every waking hour, pushing her to know more, to learn more, to never stop learning more. Her gangly limbs and knobby knees were irrelevant if she had her brain. Knowledge was her power and her weapon, and she would never deny her curiosity for the sake of ignorance.

Until Voltron.

At first, they had gone in with the hopes that no lives would have to be lost on these missions. They aimed for the shoulder, for the legs. Strikes to disable and injure, but never to kill. When their enemies were armored up, the sentry bots and living soldiers all looked the same. 

But sentries can take a shot to the stomach without flinching. If Keith lopped off one of their arms, they switched their gun to their other hand and kept fighting. Destroyed legs did nothing to interfere with their aim. The Galran forces were too ruthless and vicious; the forces of Voltron too merciful. A few too many surprise attacks from what the team had thought was a downed enemy, a few too many close calls, a little too much time spent in the healing pods after every mission, and they knew they couldn’t afford to keep getting blindsided by the enemy. 

Shots to the shoulder and legs became blows to the head and chest and stomach. When an enemy fell, it stayed down. The healing pods were no longer perpetually recharging, waiting to envelop a hurt paladin. They finished missions faster and more efficiently. Galra fleets were taken out, colony after colony was freed. The Voltron Coalition flourished. No one mentioned the growing exhaustion behind every paladin’s eyes.

The team had always been full of fast learners. Each and every one of them had earned admission to the most prestigious school for space exploration in the country. As they adapted to living in _a giant flying castle spaceship how fucking neat_ , their sharp minds began to shine. Pidge and Hunk adapted quickly to working with technology beyond their wildest dreams. Keith was getting better at communication and interaction by the day. Shiro’s confidence as a leader had skyrocketed. Lance was starting to be able to converse in broken Altean with the princess and Coran. It only made sense that they would learn how to kill in no time at all.

It was hard, at first. The team had quickly hardened their hearts to the occasional cry of pain from the enemy ranks as they fought. The sounds of the Galra were just alien enough, just animal enough, just inhuman enough to brush off in the heat of battle and block from memory in quiet moments. But the sounds of death are much harder to shrug off. The new sounds of battle - alien cries cut short by the swing of a blade, rattling-gurgling breaths bubbling out of a chest riddled with holes from laser fire - filled the ears of the Paladins long after the fight had been won. The first time Pidge had to take down a group of soldiers by herself left her with wet tear-tracks painting her cheeks and a new scar splashed across her forearm.

Some nights, in the reverent hush of her darkened room, sheets twisted around her legs, chest heaving and back slick with sweat, Pidge stroked the mark on her arm and reminded herself _it’s me or them. me or them. me or them._

Some nights, it was almost enough to fool herself.

Objectively, Pidge knew she was smart. Her brain ran faster than even she could keep up with at times. While the other kids in elementary school would groan over math homework, Pidge asked the teacher for more with a wide grin. She got used to the librarians giving strange looks to the little girl checking out books on physics and math and coding. Learning was her passion, and knowledge was her drug. Knowledge is power.

So, when the team was fading from lack of sleep and their eyes were glazed over and their shoulders dragged down from that invisible unknowable weight, Pidge used whatever power she had left. Dialing up the background static of the helmet communicators was easy. Sitting with Hunk to clean their armor was easy. Focusing on the press of her armor, on her panting breaths, on the dry, sterile, air inside her helmet, on the smell of sweat, on the fortifying presence of her teammates behind her was easy.

The darker reaches of her mind liked to whisper _ignorance is a bliss that you’ll never know again_. Ignoring them was hard.

She was self-aware enough to know that she didn’t know how to cope with this intimate knowledge of death she had acquired. So she squinted her eyes until the shapes of the Galran sentries ( _soldiers?_ ) surrounding her blurred into dark silhouettes. She focused on the gentle crackle of the coms in her helmet ( _as if that could block out the sounds of the dying_ ). She gripped her bayard tight, internalizing its gentle electric hum ( _as if her gloves weren’t slick with blood that was not her own_ ). And she fought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This used to be the Chapter 5 A/N*
> 
> Hi there. First off, I’m sorry to post this as its own chapter. I suck and I hate it too. But this ended up longer than expected and I wanted to get this out asap (and I’m finishing edits to the next chapter as I type this note). Don’t worry, I’ll move this to the actual A/N of the next chapter or just delete it entirely so there’s not a random A/N in the middle of the story.
> 
> It’s been a while. Since I last posted a few things have happened. In no particular order:  
> \- my laptop broke (s/o to the guy who knocked my coffee onto my poor computer. If you’re reading this you suck for not even buying me another cup)  
> \- Halloween, Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, and Christmas happened  
> \- my significant other and I broke up. I also ate a full tube of raw cookie dough by myself  
> \- I’m in a musical now (Spelling Bee, if you’re curious)  
> \- my mental health tanked, got better, and tanked again. The ‘getting better’ part is currently a WIP  
> \- its 2019 now. That’s pretty sick
> 
> But yeah. I know it’s been a long time. I genuinely have no excuse, just apologies and angry glares at my mental health for ruining all motivation I had over the holidays. But I’m getting back into the groove of writing regularly, and updates should start appearing at least once a month. I’m not setting a definite schedule because that’s just asking for life to come fuck me over.  
> This story is not and will never be abandoned. I'll try to let you all know ahead of time if there will be another hiatus like what we're just exiting, but real life loves to pop up at inconvenient times
> 
> For those of you who’ve stuck with Three Legs, thank you from the bottom of my heart. For those who’re waiting for me to get my shit together and finish this so they don’t have to wait for my sporadic ass updates, that’s fair. All I ask is that you give this little project of mine a fighting chance.
> 
> Thank you for reading. You’re valid :)
> 
> This is spork, signing off  
> (until next chapter)


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